


lately you've been acting strange

by crooked



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crooked/pseuds/crooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras' odd behavior worries Grantaire, and the reason behind it absolutely floors him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lately you've been acting strange

**Author's Note:**

> a fill for a lovely anon who requested this at my [tumblr](http://enjolrahhhs.tumblr.com). enjoy! ♥

Enjolras isn’t himself.

Grantaire can see it. He’s sure everyone who’s been in Enjolras’ presence for more than five seconds can see it.

It hasn’t been a sudden change. Grantaire began noticing subtle things a few weeks ago, like the way Enjolras always seemed to be looking away from Grantaire just as his eyes were returning (returning because his gaze defaulted to Enjolras, always) to him after briefly shifting to Bahorel or Joly. Or the way he started to let himself get _caught_ looking at Grantaire and even maintaining eye contact for a few moments. And then there were the times Enjolras passed behind Grantaire’s chair and touched the back of it — but let his fingers just barely brush Grantaire’s shoulder as he did. The changes in Enjolras’ behavior only grow more and more obvious as time passes, and Grantaire cannot figure out the cause.

It really worries him when Enjolras starts to withdraw from the others. Well, sort of. He is always present at every meeting, of course, but his presence is felt less than usual. Grantaire notices that Enjolras starts to let Combeferre do most of the speaking, choosing to curl his long frame into a chair and just observe. Observe Grantaire, mostly. It’s unnerving. Not because he doesn’t want it because, _god_ , Enjolras’ undivided attention is something he’s craved forever. But it’s also something that he always figured was unattainable, like everything about the man: his attention, his affection, his respect, _him_. To suddenly have it without knowing why makes Grantaire wonder if there is something behind it.

So when Enjolras gravitates toward him during a meeting, Grantaire can’t help but feel his nerves rising. He just gets up in the middle of Courfeyrac explaining his latest recruitment idea and walks over. Grantaire is seated with Bossuet and Joly, who both share a glance when Enjolras quietly joins them at their table. He takes the vacant chair to Grantaire’s left, but he doesn’t immediately say anything. And after staring at Grantaire most of the night, he doesn’t even look at him. He just slips into the chair and sinks down into it a little, looking at Courfeyrac as if he’s really listening to him.

But Grantaire can tell he isn’t. He’s studied Enjolras too closely to not be able to pick up on when he’s just feigning interest in something. Courfeyrac is saying something about a mixer. Or maybe it’s mixtapes. Grantaire isn’t paying attention any longer. He’s too preoccupied with trying to figure Enjolras out. He still hasn’t looked over at him, as silent as a statue, eyes fixed straight ahead at Courf. Grantaire shoots a desperate look over at Joly, who can only shrug in response. Enjolras’ atypical behavior has apparently caught them all off guard. When it becomes apparent that Enjolras isn’t going to actually do anything, Grantaire decides to relax. It’s silly to be nervous anyway. It’s just _Enjolras_ , he tells himself, as if Enjolras isn’t everything.

And it’s just as Grantaire is letting his guard down and tuning into what Courfeyrac is saying when Enjolras leans over toward him. Enjolras’ voice is low but still startles Grantaire when he speaks. But it’s what he actually says that really shocks him.

“You look nice today,” he says, almost whispering the words.

Grantaire turns to Enjolras with wide eyes. “What?” he asks. He heard him. He knows exactly what Enjolras said. It’s just that he is having trouble believing it.

Enjolras frowns and shifts in his chair, and Grantaire can swear that the apples of his cheeks start to turn the slightest bit pink. “You look nice today.”

Grantaire realizes that he hadn’t spoken quite as quietly as Enjolras had the first time, and so there are several pairs of eyes on them. Courfeyrac has even stopped talking to see what’s going on. And there’s no way they all hadn’t heard Enjolras repeat his compliment. Or whatever that was. Because Grantaire isn’t used to receiving compliments that aren’t just the pity compliments, as he’s come to refer to them, from his from his friends. And he’s never once received one from Enjolras. He doesn’t know what sort of cruel attempt this is at public humiliation, but Grantaire doesn’t like it.

He shoots out of his chair so fast that it knocks over and falls to the ground with a loud clatter. Of course. That doesn’t stop him from making his hasty exit. Grantaire is out of the backroom and heading down the corridor toward the Musain’s front door before he can hear his friends’ imagined laughter. He starts to head toward his apartment when he reaches the street, but only a few blocks from the Musain he instead turns down an alley. It dead-ends but that doesn’t matter. Grantaire really just needed to be anywhere but that chair beside Enjolras just then and this will do.

As he stuffs himself into a corner where two buildings meet, Grantaire lets out a deep sigh. It isn’t as if Enjolras’ cruelty is entirely unexpected. The disgust on his face when he looks at Grantaire, the harsh words he spits in his direction. It’s nothing new. But it’s usually reserved for those times when Grantaire has admittedly had a little more alcohol than strictly necessary. Most of Enjolras’ vitriol seems aimed at Grantaire’s failures and his uselessness. This is the first time he’s targeted Grantaire’s looks. And it wouldn’t have been such a big deal under different circumstances, if Enjolras hadn’t played it the way he had. To make Grantaire think he was paying him a serious compliment, and in front of everyone like that, is a new level of cruel.

That’s why Grantaire left. He didn’t want to be there for the inevitable chorus of laughter, for the mocking smile that was sure to curve Enjolras’ lips. Fuck him, really, for thinking that was okay. But Grantaire is more upset with himself for wanting it to have been real. Most people wouldn’t have put up with Enjolras’ shit. They certainly wouldn’t have kept coming back for more. They wouldn’t have devoted so much time to thinking about and obsessing over a man who had never shown anything but disdain and disinterest toward them. Nobody has ever accused Grantaire of being the most intelligent or sensible man, though, and so he not only keeps coming back but he falls more and more in love with Enjolras every time he does.

“Fuck this,” Grantaire mutters. He fishes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his back pocket, sliding a cigarette out and placing it between his lips. His fingers are trembling, though he isn’t sure when they started doing that, and he fumbles with the lighter. He can’t seem to make it work and it’s just another thing to add to the list of shitty things that happened today.

“Goddamn it!” he yells, throwing the lighter down the alley in his frustration.

It skids and comes to a stop at the feet of someone he hadn’t seen there before: Enjolras.

Grantaire can only watch as Enjolras bends down and picks the lighter up, walks down the alley toward him. He doesn’t react because he doesn’t know how to. How long has Enjolras been there? Long enough to have witnessed his lighter troubles, it seems, because Enjolras walks over and deftly flicks the lighter to life, offering the flame to Grantaire. He gapes at him but leans in and lets the tip of his cigarette touch the flame. Grantaire takes a drag, his eyes still on Enjolras, blowing the smoke out between them.

He can’t help the question that comes out of his mouth.

“What do you want, Enjolras?”

Enjolras has the audacity to look almost hurt by it. Like he has any fucking right after the stunt he pulled. Grantaire hasn’t had enough to drink to cope with this shit. Because part of him wants so badly to know why Enjolras followed him and just what it is he wants. Whatever it is, R knows he’ll give it to him without question. Which is why the other part of him wants to tell him to forget it, to fuck off, that he doesn’t care what he wants. He never wanted to give anyone that sort of power over him, and yet Enjolras has it. Before Grantaire can open his mouth to tell him anything, Enjolras answers him.

“You.”

Grantaire’s mouth falls open a bit, the cigarette dangling precariously as the tip glows red and burns. He blinks at Enjolras, sure he heard wrong. Or, no. No, he heard right. But the rest of the guys are waiting just around the corner, just out of earshot so they can burst in laughing when Grantaire replies with something ridiculously hopeful. It wasn’t enough to tease an unattractive man with a false compliment, no. Enjolras has to really drive it home with even more.

Despite how badly it went the last time Grantaire asked this question, he can’t stop himself from repeating it. “What?” he asks, and his own voice is almost unrecognizable to his ears.

Enjolras takes a few steps and he’s right in front of Grantaire. He lifts his hand and plucks the cigarette from his mouth, flicking it away. Grantaire isn’t breathing as Enjolras brings the same hand back up to his face, to frame his jaw.

“You,” Enjolras says again. “I want _you_ , R.”

He leans in and Grantaire closes his eyes because, oh god, _he’s about to be kissed by Enjolras_ and then it happens. They’re kissing, and Enjolras’ lips are as soft and warm as he’d always imagined them to be. It’s only a chaste kiss, really, and over far too soon, but it’s the most amazing kiss in the entire history of kissing, as far as Grantaire is concerned. As Enjolras pulls back, Grantaire reaches up to curl his fingers around his wrist, keeping Enjolras’ hand pressed to his cheek.

“Oh,” Grantaire breathes. He regrets how silly it sounds the moment the word comes out, but it’s the only thing he can think of. It’s the only thing he can manage. Because Enjolras wants him and kissed him and nobody jumped out and laughed. Because this is real, not the dream he’s had of a similar moment time and time again.

Enjolras, who up until that moment Grantaire hadn’t noticed had been looking at him with an anxious expression, cracks a little smile. “What did you think I meant when I said you look nice?”

“I thought you were fucking with me,” Grantaire answers, the honest truth popping out before he can stop himself. He regrets that, too, because Enjolras’ smile fades and hurt flickers across his face. Grantaire scrambles to backpeddle. “I mean. You know… I just thought. I thought you… that maybe…”

Enjolras stops him with a finger to his lips. “No, it’s okay,” he says, though his flushed cheeks tell Grantaire that it isn’t entirely okay that he thought that of him. “I can be a little…” Enjolras trails off, appearing to struggle to find the right words, which is something R has never seen him do. “A little harsh when it comes to you. But it’s just because I know you’re capable of so much more, Grantaire.”

Grantaire looks down and laughs, shaking his head. He isn’t. He knows he isn’t, and deep down he knows that Enjolras knows it too. But the fact that he said it, that the man he believes in above all others wants him to think that he believes in him as well, means a lot to Grantaire. He can’t begin to put it into words.

He doesn’t have to.

When he looks up, Enjolras kisses him again. And if that first kiss was an icebreaker, this one is meant to melt it. It melts Grantaire, at any rate, his body so pliant as he lets his back fall against the wall. He can’t break that kiss, not even if his life depended on it, so he takes a hold of the kangaroo pocket on Enjolras’ hoodie and brings him with him. Enjolras laughs against his lips, brings his hands up to span Grantaire’s waist, and kisses him some more. It’s dizzying, the heat of his mouth and the press of their bodies. Grantaire at first just keeps his fingers twisted around the red fabric, unsure if he’s allowed to touch the man himself. But then Enjolras does this _thing_ with his tongue and the only possible reaction is to moan, to arch into him, to bury his fingers deep in Enjolras’ thick hair.

They kiss like that for minutes uncounted. Entire days could’ve passed and Grantaire wouldn’t have realized. He’s been wanting this for so long, craving it, that he doesn’t care how long they stand in that dark alley, tangled together. More importantly, no— _unbelievably_ , Enjolras seems to feel the same way. He kisses Grantaire, holds him as though he’s been craving it as much as Grantaire has. When the laws of nature dictate that Grantaire has to take a breath or he’ll suffocate and die (although he’d argue it would be the best way to go), Enjolras makes a tiny sound of displeasure and chases his retreating lips to kiss him just that little bit more. And Grantaire thinks he’s going to die from that instead.

Grantaire runs a hand through his hair, leaning his head back against the wall and breathing out something that’s half overwhelmed sigh, half disbelieving laugh. He wants to ask him how long, when did it happen, why did it happen. But he doesn’t really want to hear any of the answers. They don’t really matter, not just then. Maybe not ever.

“What are you thinking?” Enjolras asks him, suddenly, and Grantaire becomes aware that he’s been watching him. His cheeks flush and he angles his head down, peering at Enjolras from under the shade of his lashes.

“Um, just that…” Grantaire pauses, shakes his head. “Okay, if you laugh at what I’m about to say…” The threat is empty and Enjolras’ grin tells Grantaire he knows it. He sighs and continues. “I was just thinking that I must be dreaming because I’ve had at least a thousand just like this.”

Enjolras doesn’t laugh. The smile on his face softens and he leans in, kissing the corner of Grantaire’s mouth. “Me, too,” he breathes. The idea that Enjolras has dreamed of kissing him shoots a thrill through Grantaire’s belly and his smile is so bright it seems to lighten the space around them.

“You have not,” he says, biting his lip to try to contain his giddy grin.

“Yes, I have,” Enjolras counters. “For weeks, now. You have no idea how distracting you are.”

And it hits Grantaire that the change that had come over Enjolras was because of _him_. Enjolras’ odd behavior, his glances and sometimes outright stares, the way he’d become a bit withdrawn - it was all because he, what, didn’t know how to handle the fact that he was developing feelings for Grantaire? The very thought makes Grantaire laugh. He tips his head back and lets out a throaty bark of laughter, which is greeted by a slightly confused look from Enjolras.

“Sorry,” Grantaire says, still laughing, holding up a hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I don’t know how distracting _I_ am? Enjolras, have you met you? I have to remind myself to breathe when you’re in the room.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes but Grantaire can tell he’s pleased by his words. “Oh, whatever. Anyway,” he says, as if he’s going to continue. He doesn’t. He simply reaches for Grantaire, hesitates the briefest moment, and then slides his palm down the underside of Grantaire’s wrist until their fingers thread together. The sensation floods Grantaire with warmth, his eyes focused on their hands. He wants to savor the moment because he’s still not sure he’s not dreaming, not sure Enjolras won’t change his mind and take it all back at any moment.

Just as that thought crosses his mind, he feels Enjolras’ hand shift and this is it, this is when he pulls his fingers and their comforting warmth away and it’s all over. But Grantaire braces for the parting that never comes. Enjolras just adjusts his hand, entwines their fingers tighter, and strokes his thumb over Grantaire’s. There is something even more intimate about that tiny gesture than their heated kisses. Grantaire can’t explain it, only that it feels as though Enjolras is somehow saying _yes, this, this is right where I want to be_. Staring down at their hands, Grantaire utters a confession he isn’t quite prepared to make, now or ever.

“I’ve loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you,” he says, his voice whisper-soft.

The silence that follows causes a panic to rise in Grantaire. Well, now he’s fucked up. He revealed far too much. Enjolras took weeks to build up to an awkwardly-timed come on. The L-word is surely going to have him running for the hills at any moment.

He doesn’t move, though. Grantaire’s gaze had still been fixed on their hands, too afraid to look up and see rejection reflected in Enjolras’ eyes. But he chances a quick glance, and what he sees is a soft smile on Enjolras’ lips.

“I’ve known you were nothing but trouble since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he counters. Grantaire laughs. It’s not exactly a confession of love, but he’ll take what he can get. Enjolras laughs along with him, then quietly adds, “And I still fell for you anyway.”

Grantaire doesn’t ask him to repeat it. He doesn’t need him to. He would’ve heard those words even if they were standing in the middle of a hurricane. He surges forward and kisses Enjolras, catching him by surprise if the little noise he makes against Grantaire’s lips is anything to go by. Enjolras is on the same page as Grantaire in no time flat, though, winding an arm around his waist and pressing closer, kissing him with the sort of enthusiasm that comes along with something so new.

When they part, Grantaire is grinning and Enjolras’ expression matches his. They’re still holding hands as Enjolras starts to lead Grantaire out of the alley, the direction they take indicating that he’s walking him home. Grantaire refuses to let himself think too far ahead, to the moment when they reach his doorstep and whether or not Enjolras is going to come inside. He just wants to live in the moment because this has to be one of the most incredible moments of his entire life.

“So. We’re really going to do this?” Enjolras asks after a little while.

Grantaire casts a crooked grin in his direction. “Yeah, looks like. It’s probably a really bad idea.”

“Or a really good one,” Enjolras offers.

“But probably a _really_ bad one,” Grantaire replies, his grin growing wider. There’s more truth to his words than his smile suggests, but he’s floating too high just then to come down.

Enjolras shakes his head and laughs at him. “Well, we could always cut our losses and just forget about the whole thing.”

“Already looking for an out, Enjolras?” Grantaire asks, affecting a wounded look.

“Not hardly,” Enjolras replies. “I just got in.”

Grantaire can’t resist it, smirking at Enjolras as he says, “Not yet, you haven’t. But play your cards right and we’ll see.” It’s hard to tell walking in the shadows between the bright beams of the lampposts, but Grantaire swears he sees Enjolras’ cheeks flush.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says.

“I am wild,” Grantaire retorts, which draws another laugh from Enjolras. He’ll be as ridiculous or as wild as it takes if he can just keep making him do that, he thinks.

“Even so, I’m still going to give this a try,” Enjolras says. “Maybe I can tame the savage beast within you.”

There isn’t anything particularly provocative about the way he says it, but the words still make Grantaire shiver the slightest bit. He recovers before Enjolras can realize. “Now what would be the fun in that?”

Enjolras is the one who smirks now. “You just aren’t familiar with my methods.”

All Grantaire can say is _oh_ , and it comes out more like a moan than anything else. Enjolras doesn’t say another word but smiles in a way that says more than enough.

They eventually reach Grantaire’s door and Enjolras kisses him again, and then Grantaire catches his lips for another kiss after that. He doesn’t come in but it doesn’t matter because Grantaire can hardly complain. He already feels he’s gotten far more than he had any right to expect. And there’s still a part of him that can’t quite believe any of it happened at all.

Until he wakes up to a text from Enjolras. _it wasn’t a dream. see you after class?_ Grantaire barely manages to tap out a reply ( _haha guess not. you know where to find me._ ) before he grabs his pillow and pulls it down over his face, grinning into it. It happened. It’s happen _ing_. He’s thrilled and terrified in equal measure because it’s Enjolras but he’s never had a thing he didn’t fuck up in the most colossal way.

Before the usual self-doubt and loathing can set it, though, Grantaire’s phone goes off again. He resurfaces from beneath the pillow and picks it up, displaying another message from Enjolras. _can’t wait. x_ Grantaire smiles at that, sending back a smiley face and then cringing at the fact that he just sent back a fucking smiley face. But his fears have subsided for the moment because Enjolras, who has already seen him at his worst, can’t wait to see him. And presumably kiss him again.

Grantaire doesn’t want to get his hopes up because that’s only ever proven to be a dangerous and disappointing thing. But something vaguely hopeful can’t help but spark inside him when, hours later, a knock sounds at his door and Enjolras is on the other side, almost shy at first as he pulls him by the hips and brings their lips together before even uttering a word of greeting.

He doesn’t know how long he’s going to have this — this warm body flush against his, these plush lips so soft against his own, those hands diving into his hair — but he has it for now. And for Grantaire that’s enough.


End file.
